PsyOps
by Tragediane
Summary: 2011 Summer Challenge. Rated M — Darkfic. One of NCIS Los Angeles's elite team members is compromised by Pure. The team investigates a sinister plot to undermine the psychological fabric of their team through destroying one team member's sanity.
1. Kidnapped

**My ID Theft situation took too much of my time and I decided to remove this story, complete it, and resubmit it. Thanks for your patience.**

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><p><strong>Author's Notes: 2011 Summer Challenge<strong>

**Title: PsyOps**

**Story Premise: One of NCIS Los Angeles's elite team members is compromised by Pure. The team investigates a sinister plot to undermine the psychological fabric of their team through destroying one team member's sanity.**

**Rating: Rated M due to Darkfic; includes torture, rape, violence, betrayal, tragedy, hurt/comfort, mental, emotional, and physical trauma.**

**OC Death**

**Major G Callen whump.**

**No pairings.**

**Daffynition: PsyOps—psychologic operations**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>NCIS: Los Angeles and its characters are owned by CBS and the producers of it. I do not own anything, but if I did I would torture G Callen more. I am grateful to CBS and the producers of NCIS: LA for their contribution to the world of entertainment.

My stories are a work of my imagination and I do _**not**_ ascribe them to official story canon. This is a work intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by CBS and the producers of NCIS:LA. I gain no profit from the creation and publication of this story. I love to play in the sandbox with the characters and their lives. I especially love to torture G Callen. It is fun!

**Reviews welcomed and appreciated.**

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><p><strong>Kidnapped<strong>

**Chapter 1**

G tried to reach out his arm and turn the engine over with the key. His right arm failed to respond to his mind. Yet he believed he reached out to touch the key in his ignition. He opened his eyes and surveyed his situation. Blackness. _Wasn't it early Saturday morning after a run on Zuma Beach in Malibu?_ Now it was nighttime? Nothing made sense about the time frame. He remembered the odd taste to the water in his water bottle. Damn. After a few more minutes of orienting to his surroundings, G realized why his arms didn't respond. They were tied behind his back. Why was it dark? A hood covered his head. Crap. With each new discovery about the condition of his body, his prospects of escaping decreased. G tried to move his legs. Tied. Not good. Whatever had been in his water left a nasty aftertaste in his mouth. No possible way to spit it out with the hood in place. G rubbed his head on the surface of whatever he was laying on, trying to remove the hood.

"Ah, he's awake," a man with a deep voice said. "Perfect. Bring him."

Rough and calloused hands lifted him off the floor, dragging him toward his destination.

"What do you want with me?"

"Shut your mouth, Mr. G. Callen," the man said.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll make your life a living hell."

G decided, at least for now, it wasn't worth it to make his captor any more angry than he was.

The hood was ripped off his head and the back of his head was slapped hard.

Bright lights came on and G squinted, the light hurting his eyes. Must be the drugs they had altered his water with or maybe he had been unconscious longer than he thought. It felt as if it was only five minutes, but it couldn't be.

"Sit him down. If you struggle to get away, I'll do two things: Drug you further and have my two agents beat you into submission. Think about your actions before you commit them. Tie him to the chair. You will speak when asked to do so. Understood, Mr. G. Callen?"

"Yes."

"I'll give you a few minutes, before we begin your onscreen interrogation."

_Onscreen interrogation? Who was this man?_ He blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the light.

"Cameras on and ready?" the man asked his two agents. "Water, Mr. G. Callen?"

Yes, if it didn't contain the tainted water. No, if it did.

"You will speak when spoken to, understood?"

"Yes."

After the man's team nodded they were ready with the cameras, the man brought water over to his prisoner. "You need to drink," he said. "If I know you as I do, this promises to be a long session. Drink." He held the bottle up to his prisoner's lips.

G took several small sips. It wasn't tainted. The cool water washed away the strange taste in his mouth. He studied his captor's face, attempting to recall where he'd seen him. Nothing came to mind. It was possible he didn't know him. Because he needed to squint, the man's face was partially obscured. One side revealed deep set hazel eyes, bushy black eyebrows, and a blond mustache. Strange. He wondered which had been colored to disguise the man.

"Good choice again, answering with a simple 'yes', the less hassle, the faster I get the results I'm seeking," he said. "Would you like more water? Mr. G. Callen, I suggest you take it."

"Yes."

"Drink this." The man held it up to his prisoner's lips.

G drank as much water as he could get down, knowing he might be dehydrated from his long run and this may be the last time he drank water for a long time. He studied his captor's face more and glanced around the room at his surroundings.

"Trying to figure it out, Mr. G. Callen?"

"Yes."

"That's good, because we need your mind working for the next part of our 'meeting.'"

"Now then, you have something we want, and you will give it to us."

"Who is we?"

The man slapped G hard across the face. "Short term memory problems, Mr. G. Callen?"

"No." A bitter, metallic taste now invaded his mouth. Blood.

"Just being your obstinate and independent self?" the man asked. "That will cost you more than you'll want to pay. You have an agent I want and you will hand her over to me."

"How can I do that when I'm—"

"Short term memory problems, again?" The man fisted G in the gut several times driving home his point. "Wait until I'm finished and you'll know."

He grimaced. "I'm not turning over—"

The man slapped him hard across the face, again. The force of the slap slammed his prisoner's head backwards against the metal chair's headrest.

G shook his head and decided not to make further comments.

"Excellent choice, Mr. G. Callen," he said. "I want Henrietta Lange and you will arrange for her to meet me."

"No."

"Not a good choice." He signaled the two agents. They came over to the man's side, the taller agent brandishing a picana. "Are you sure that's what you wish to answer?"

G swallowed hard, feeling as if food were stuck in his throat. The palm of his hands started to sweat. Flashes of pictures from an unspeakable incident years ago inundated his mind. He knew the weapon well, involuntary shuddering overtook his body. He hoped to never see one again, but here he was face to face with a man holding the weapon. The last intel on the use of one of these came from South America. These instruments were used to extract intel from prisoners during interrogations and were quite effective. He shivered. "No."

"You will help me, then?"

"Yes." He lied, hoping his team would find him before this sadistic man used the dreadful instrument of torture on him.

"Good choice again, Mr. G. Callen," he said. "Now look into the camera and tell Ms. Henrietta Lange I wish to speak to her. She has forty-eight hours to answer or I start torturing you for the fun of it." He laughed with a maniacal tone.

G knew he had only one chance to tell his team members who these men were. His first guess, Pure, the enemy his team had been trained to eliminate. He was now thankful Sam and Eric had suggested everyone learn two more languages in addition to the five new ones they learned in their recent training. Sam's choice was morse code and Eric's, sign language. G's only tool with which to communicate, his eyelids.


	2. Morse Code

**Morse Code**

**Chapter 2**

Sam Hanna entered the bullpen, on time and eager to start his day. Their new safe house, nicknamed The Barn, felt more like home base as each day passed. The outside portrayed the appearances of a barn, while the inside of the three story building, looked similar to NCIS Headquarters. The third floor contained sleeping quarters used during extended ops. The new location had been necessary to combat their new enemy, Pure, an organization which needed to be eliminated as soon as possible before Pure destroyed their identities and ultimately, their team.

Kensi Blye and Marty Deeks entered the bullpen five minutes later. Each agent sat in their seats ready to receive their orders from Hetty Lange.

Eric Beale scrambled downstairs to the lower level and rushed into the bullpen. "Sam, I need to speak to you alone."

"Where's Hetty?" He asked.

"Emergency meeting with Vance at NCIS Headquarters."

"She didn't inform me."

"Vance showed up unannounced."

Sam's left eyebrow lifted. Ever since they moved into The Barn strange meetings were a normal occurrence. But Hetty gone in the early morning hours of the day was unusual. He followed the senior tech to the lounge.

Eric kept his voice low, something out of the ordinary for him. "We've got a problem."

"Eric?"

"We received an email from an anonymous and encrypted email address."

"Did you open it?"

"Not yet and there's more to it."

"Go on."

"It contains a link to a website."

"Scanned for viruses?"

"Yes, none."

"Let's go view it," Sam said. "Have you seen Callen?"

"No." Eric spun on his heels and dashed up the stairs.

"Kensi and Deeks, upstairs."

"What no whistle?" Kensi asked.

"Eric's working on something he received via email."

"Okay, but this is out the ordinary and I don't do out of the ordinary this early in the morning," Deeks said. "I'm just saying." He laughed.

Kensi shot him a look.

"Either of you seen Callen?"

"He didn't ride with you this morning?"

"He didn't even call me." Sam climbed the stairs to the second floor. He entered the expanded OPS followed by Kensi and Deeks. OPS covered the half of the second floor of The Barn, about 4,000 square feet. It was the core of their operations. "Hi Nell."

"Sam."

"You are 100 percent positive you want me to open this file?"

"Go ahead, Eric."

He opened the email and clicked on the website link.

Sam gasped. Kensi and Deeks's jaws dropped. Eric and Nell stared at the video. The screen was filled with a video of their team leader tied to a chair, his nose bloodied and his eyes bloodshot.

"Get Hetty on the phone ASAP," Sam said. "Zoom in on that weapon in that man's hands." He gasped. Not good.

"On speakerphone, Sam," Eric said.

"Hetty, we've got problems, big problems," he said. "Callen has been captured by someone. They've videotaped him. It is onscreen now."

"Feed it to me here, Mr. Hanna."

"Eric."

"I'm on it."

Sam studied his partner on the screen. Something was odd about his face. After a few more minutes gazing at G's face, he finally saw it. "Eric, zoom in and enhance on G's eyes." There it was. Sam's insistence that each team member learn it and memorize it had now proved to be invaluable.

"I see it," Deeks said, "morse code with his eyelids."

Eric's fingers flew over the keyboard typing in the words he was seeing.

"Hetty, Pure has Callen," Sam said.

"How in the hell did this happen?" she asked.

"He's communicating to us using morse code with his eyelids," he said. "Callen says, 'Drugged my water bottle. Don't give Hetty in exchange for my life. Don't do what these sadistic bastards want. I'll be okay.'"

"That's not happening, Mr. Hanna," she said. "What do they want?"

"For you to meet with them in forty-eight hours."

"Or what?"

"They begin torturing him with the picana."

"You have forty-eight hours to find him. I don't want one more hair on his head harmed," she said. "Is that understood?"

"Crystal clear," Sam said. He turned off the speakerphone.

"A picana?" Kensi asked.

"You don't want to know," Deeks said, "painful and humiliating torture."

She cringed.

"Because Callen got taken from either his home or somewhere between there and here, we'll need to do as much of the intel from here as possible," Sam said.

"Well, they must have had access to his house to drug his water bottle," Kensi said.

"Wait a minute, a water bottle, that suggests he was exercising today," Deeks said.

"Excellent," Sam said. But G doesn't exercise, this doesn't make sense. "Eric, check all gyms where Callen has used an alias."

"Where's his car?" Kensi asked.

"I'm on it already," Eric said. "No gyms used. Vehicle is at Zuma Beach in Malibu."

"What in the hell was he thinking?" Sam asked.

"Going for a run?" she asked.

"Yeah, but he knows we're supposed to double up until Pure is eliminated."

"I've done a search on the beaches he goes to," Nell said. "All on Saturdays, but not consecutive ones, and around the same time, 4:30 AM."

"Missing since Saturday morning," Sam said, "damn it, G, whatever were you thinking." He thought out loud. "He of all people should know better. Alone. Same times. Equals easy target. Video cams for Zuma Beach?"

"On screen."

"The time stamp confirms the time frame, 4:30 AM Saturday morning." Sam watched his partner warm up as he had suggested. Maybe there was hope for G after all. He did listen to him about warming up and exercising. Sam watched as his partner returned to the car, slowed his pace, and cooled off. Next he saw G taking a couple of sips of water instead of guzzling it down. Another lesson Sam had taught him. In this instance, it probably saved his life, because he didn't get a lot of the drug which had been placed in the water bottle. After sipping the water a second time, G made a face, the drug probably altered the taste, and spit out the water, pouring the remaining water onto the pavement. Bad that his partner poured it onto the pavement as there may not be enough evidence in the bottle to know what drug was used. Afterward G climbed into the Mercedes and the team watched as he started to doze off. Next they saw a dark grey van pull up beside G's car, obscuring their agent's vehicle. Damn it.

"Kensi, Deeks, with me, let's check out his car and Zuma Beach," Sam said. "Eric and Nell, all cameras within the area, find that van ASAP. I need visuals from the roof tops of the concessions, Zuma Lifeguard Headquarters, Point Dume, the parking lots, and the Pacific Coast Highway [PCH]. Get me pictures of the people who took G if possible. Give me at least a five mile radius from Zuma Beach, possibly ten miles into the hills surrounding Malibu. Send all intel to our cell phones and copy to Hetty."

"We're on it," Eric said, typing on his keyboard and bringing up video cam shots of the places Sam specified. Nell categorized and organized the intel as her partner brought it up on the big screen.

The team hurried downstairs and rushed into the armory. They each selected weapons with silencers and three long range rifles. Kensi loaded several odd weapons—which they were trained to use at their special training in Israel—into a hard leather case.

"Ready?" Sam asked. "Remember, lethal force at all times against Pure. Let's go."


	3. Picana

**Picana**

**Chapter 3**

The taller agent had given the picana to his fellow agent. He threatened to prod his prisoner with it. "Do as he says."

G shuddered with their orders. He hadn't expected it would happen this soon. To use a picana, the prisoner had to be stripped of all clothes and strapped to a metal table. He refused to do it the first time they ordered him to strip. G now stood in the center of an eight by eight cell. The frigid cement floor under his bare feet increased his involuntary shivering.

"We'll do it for you," the taller agent said.

G backed away from them. Just knowing what was coming caused bile to rise in the back of his throat. The lack of food after a run had started the nausea earlier that morning. Now it was worse with the news he'd soon be incapacitated and tortured. The anticipation of torture would sometimes be enough for a prisoner to make a full confession. G needed to keep in survival mode for as long as possible, even though it severely taxed his physical resources, and those were limited from lack of food and water. His captors at least allowed him to sleep. Maybe that was part of their plan too. Too much time alone for some people caused them to lose touch with reality. "No."

"Wrong answer, Mr. G. Callen, strip off your clothes or we'll do it for you," the taller agent said.

These two men had accents which sounded Australian. Although, the taller agent looked German with light, almost white blond hair, muscular, similar to Sam's build. G figured this guy could easily make him do what the he wanted. The smaller build, older agent was about G's height and weight with dark brown hair. He could take this guy out. Yeah, he could take him out, if and only if he hadn't ran six miles early Saturday morning. His only advantage, he knew what the picana could do and years ago saw how it was used. G backed away into a corner of the dim lit, windowless cell. The only light came from a low wattage, incandescent light bulb hanging from the ceiling by electrical wires. The room reminded G of the prison cell in South America, except there the floors were composed of dirt. Those prison cells contained a toilet dug into the dirt floor. In this prison, a metal drain in the cement floor served as the toilet. "No."

"All right, we'll have to do this our way," the taller man said.

"At least, you could tell me your names."

"Whatever for?" the man asked, approaching G. "We don't plan to get too acquainted with you. Names are inconsequential." Both men came at him at once, one with the torture instrument. The picana was now electrified with a car battery.

G figured the only way out of the situation, was to come out of the corner fighting. Without much stamina left in him, he charged the man holding the picana, turned the weapon of torture on the agent and zapped him in the head with it until he writhed in pain and fell to the cement floor. With the picana in his hands, he aimed it the taller agent and pushed him away. G felt as if he were in a sword fight holding the strange weapon of torture in his hands and lunging with it toward the taller agent. He backed the guy toward the door. "Open it."

The man on the floor moaned. G flipped around to zap him again. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the taller agent come at him full force as if the man were a boxer ready to take him out in the last round. He caught the guy in the genitals with the picana. The man screamed and writhed, dropping to the cement floor in a heap. G grabbed a set of keys from the agent's belt, ripped the picana from the battery, and dashed out the door. He surveyed the hallway to his right and straight before him. He spun around and locked the door to the cell. Which way to go? No mirrors or cameras. Good and bad. He needed intel, but there wasn't anything to go on. He chose straight ahead.

Now, G wished he had grabbed one of those agent's shoes. Maybe part of their team's training should include walking on hot coals or sharp rocks to prepare them for incidents such as these? Or maybe a six mile hike on the hot sand at Zuma Beach would toughen up his soles. Those forms of torture were minor compared to a picana used on the most tender parts of the body. He inched along the wall, hugging it to keep hidden if someone entered the hallway. No doors. No windows. Thick cement walls. G thought about where this place could be. He wondered if he was in LA or some other town. No way to know how long he had been unconscious and therefore how far away these men had taken him from Zuma Beach.

A distant clanging noise brought on more involuntary shivers. He stopped and listened. G hovered for several minutes listening to the sound. It was an odd but familiar noise and it was coming closer. He scanned the hallway ahead of him for a door. One. It was about 20 feet ahead on the right. He sprinted for it, hoping the door wasn't locked when he got there. G grabbed the door knob and turned it. The door opened into a room about two times the size of the one he had been in for who knows how many hours. The same ice cold cement floor as the first room with a single overhead light fixture. He shut the door and stood with his ear to it, listening to the clamoring of a metal frame of some sort going past the door. G shivered, that metal frame was meant for him. A picture came to his mind of a metal frame from years ago in South America. He shuddered and scanned the room, searching for something to jam against the door, a metal chair. He crammed it under the door knob and shoved it hard against the door. Another door, good and bad. He inched toward it, edged around the corner, and sighed, another room similar in size to the other one. One exception, this one had windows and a bed. G crept toward one of the windows and peeked out.

If he was right about where he was, getting out of this building and staying out of sight from Pure would be next to impossible. This was one building and business which would be an excellent cover for Pure. He wondered if there was a connection. The company possessed some of the most innovative object detection technology in the world. NCIS used the technology for surveillance and threat detection. He shivered hard, thinking of the possibilities this company could provide Pure and impossibilities of an escape for himself.


	4. Rescued

**Rescued**

**Chapter 4**

Sam sped toward Zuma Beach in his Challenger with Kensi in the front seat and Deeks in the backseat, the beach was the furthermost distance from their location. He wondered why G would use this beach when other ones were closer. When he got his partner back in the car, he'd rip him a new one. Forget about what Hetty would do to him, she'd have to wait in line. Another dumb ass move by G Callen. It rated right up there with his partner infiltrating an extreme militia group on his own.

His cell phone buzzed and he placed it on speakerphone. "Eric, what do you have for me?"

"Nothing at the ten mile mark," he said. "I found the vehicle which grabbed Callen and they disappear about ten miles out on PCH."

"Go as far as you need to, Eric," he said. "Anything else?"

"Choka!"

"What?"

"Sorry, Sam, surfing terminology for awesome, found the vehicle," he said. "Crap, you're not going to like this."

"Talk to me."

"It's parked at a high tech company, they manufacture the same technology we use for high target surveillance and threat detection," Eric said. "Potter Creek Laboratories at 3001 Potter Canyon Road in Malibu. I sent the address to your cell phone and your car's GPS."

"Send me the intel on them too."

"Done."

"Kensi, here read this and give me as much info as you can before we get there."

"Planning to storm the gates?"

"No, just a friendly visit from an inspector."

"They'll expect credentials of some sort."

"I have several alias IDs with me." One thing Sam learned from their year long training abroad was to carry more than one alias with you at all times. Before the training, he stuck to the well-known ways of undercover agents, only one ID at a time.

"Good job, Sam."

"I wish G was saying that to me instead of you," Sam said. "No offense to you though."

"None taken," Kensi said.

They neared the cutoff road which would take them onto the private road leading to the laboratory.

"Kens, get Eric on the phone again," Sam said. "Eric, you have any idea when the last inspector visited?"

"Compliance, almost a year ago."

"I'll take it," Sam said. "Pass the intel onto Kensi."

"So I guess we are going to waltz into this joint," she said, reading the intel.

"Won't be that difficult, we use their technology everyday," Sam said. "It's in this car too."

"Maybe we should ask for an adjustment?" she asked, winking at him.

He pulled up to the entrance gate, grabbed his wallet, and waited behind a car stopped at the gate. "Give it to me, Kensi."

"You got it figured out, Sam, you don't need my help."

He took a quick glance at the intel. "You're right." Sam pulled up to the entrance gate. "Compliance." Just one word should be enough he decided.

"ID please," a young woman guard said.

Sam gave her his alias, one which had been backstopped for 15 years.

"And these are your team members?"

"Yes."

"Everything checks out." The guard opened the gate.

Sam drove through and scanned the parking lot for the best vantage point. "We're going in."

"You crazy, Sam?"

"No, I have a gut feeling and I'm going with it." Sam grabbed his alias ID and placed in the top position in his wallet window. "I'll need you two to provide inference once we get inside."

"You saw something?" Deeks asked.

"Yeah, I did."

"What?"

"I see G through the window, lower level, to your left," he said. "I'm not pointing."

"How do you plan to get him out of the lower level, if you don't know where it is?" Deeks asked.

"Intel which Eric sent showed a basement level."

"Sharp eye, Sam, and fast reader," Kensi said. "I didn't get that far." She scrolled through the intel Eric sent. "Yes, it's all here." She handed the phone back to him. "Ready for some smoochy interaction with your favorite agent, Deeks?"

"Can't wait," he said, "anything to free Callen from this joint and the out the hands of Pure."

The three agents exited the Challenger. Sam entered the building followed by Kensi and Deeks, who were already hanging on each other and smooching. The training in Israel taught them to use the team's natural abilities and their assumed partnerships for undercover work. Not that Kensi and Deeks had a relationship outside of NCIS, but they appeared to be a couple and that's what worked. "Hey you two, get a room," Sam said. He strode up to the receptionist's desk and presented his ID. "Compliance."

"Yes, we expected you next month, but this will do," the man at the desk said.

"My two, ah amorous agents will be glad to escort you as well." Sam gestured to them to follow him. "Don't overdo it," he said, lowering his voice.

"Who's overdoing it?" Deeks winked at him.

"Once we get inside, then you two can ramp it up."

Sam eyed the video cameras along the long hallway as they entered the facility. He took out his cell phone again and viewed the buildings schematics. He needed a distraction by his team. The receptionist lead them to another desk at a "T" in the hallway and the man left.

"Compliance, huh?" The man behind the security desk asked. "Thought you guys were supposed to show up next month."

"You mean so you could get everything in order before we arrived?" Sam asked. He watched the security guard's reaction—he bristled hearing the words. _Good. _

"Right this way." The man stood, straightened his blue security uniform, and lead them down the hallway to the left. Excellent, the direction Sam needed to travel to find his partner. "Right here, this is where we keep the data sheets." The man showed them a room with two desks and one computer.

"Do you have a restroom I could use?" Sam asked.

"Follow me."

Before Sam left, he eyed his team, telling them it was time for a performance. Sam entered the bathroom for a few seconds, opened the door and scanned the hallway in both directions before heading for the emergency exit. Once inside the stairwell, he drew his weapon and scrambled down the stairs, stopping every eight or nine steps to check for noise. Nothing. Good. No guarantee this stairwell would lead him to his partner. After descending two flight of stairs, Sam listened at the door. He opened it slow and surveyed the dim lit hallway toward the left and right before stepping into it. A "L" at the far end in one direction and a long hallway in the other. He thought of calling Eric, but he probably lacked cell phone reception down here. Trust your gut was his first thought. He chose the "L," hoping it would lead him to G. The walls reminded Sam of a bunker with their solid, thick cement. On his left he found a door and tried the handle. It moved, but the door wouldn't open. Sam stepped back, his back touching the opposite wall five feet away, and made a run at the door, hitting it with his left side. The door budged but didn't open. Sam made another run at the door, slamming into it full force. The door flung open, crashing against an inside wall. Before entering the room, he aimed his weapon around the corner.

"Federal agent," Sam said, cocking the trigger on his silenced Glock 17.

"I surrender." G came out with his hands up.

"Very funny." He released the trigger. "Let's get out of here." Sam gave his partner a once over, checking out his physical well being, before his eyes rested on G's feet. "No shoes?"

"Yeah, don't know where they ran off to."

"Lucky for you they weren't your work boots or Hetty—"

"They don't have her do they?"

"Nope." They followed the hallway back to the emergency exit.

"Damn it, one more door and I would be home free."

"I'm afraid not, G, tight security up there."

"Then how did you get in?"

"Compliance."

"Ah, you dusted off your inspector's alias," G said. "Nice job, Senior Special Agent Sam Hanna."

"Thank you." The corners of Sam's mouth turned upwards. "Never thought I'd hear you say that and mean it."

Once inside the stairwell, they ascended the two flights of stairs side by side.

"How do plan to get me from point A to point B dressed like a runner without shoes?"

"Only one way," Sam said. "Turn around." He holstered his weapon.

"Good cop, bad cop again?" G asked.

"No, good cop, maverick cop." He slapped the handcuffs on his partner's wrists. "You mavericked me."

"Sam."

"Lone handed me," he said.

"What?"

"Lone wolfed me," Sam said, shoving G out the door in front of him. He placed his big hand on his partner's neck and guided him down the hallway to the compliance office.

"Sorry, Sam."

"Is that all you have to say?" he asked. "You almost got yourself killed." Sam stopped at the compliance office's doorway.

"Great you found Callen," Kensi said, glancing up from the computer.

"Barefoot and unfrelted, excellent," Deeks said. "We uploaded info to Eric. There _is_ a possible connection to Pure."

"We need to leave, now," Sam said. "If we need to use weapons to get G out of here then do so. Understood?"

"Crystal," Deeks said. "Finished the upload."

Sam pushed his partner ahead of him down the hallway. "Do yourself a favor and don't say a word."

G nodded.

_No guard, odd. _He guided G past the desk and turned right toward the exit. Lunch time?

"Are we just going to waltz out of here?" Kensi asked.

"Looks that way." Sam surveyed the receptionist's desk and the lobby. "I'm not sure I like this." He stopped short of opening the entrance doors. In the parking lot, an unmarked security car had stopped by the Challenger. "Kensi, we need some—"

"We're on it, Sam." She and Deeks strolled out the exit, smooching and heading toward the car.

"Let's go, Mr. Barefoot." Sam pushed his partner through the exit and outside. "Lucky for you, it's not the middle of summer. The asphalt would burn off your tootsies." He chuckled. Sam slowed their pace, letting Kensi and Deeks finish their "work," distracting and misdirecting. "All our training is working, well, except for you."

"Don't rub it in."

"I'll rub it in, as if I were rubbing salt into an open wound until it hurts, G."

"Sorry, Sam."

"My guess is they're watching us right now with their high tech surveillance software," he said. "If you keep walking in a straight line in front of me, that should prevent them from seeing your bare feet and the handcuffs." Sam watched the security detail drive off. "Okay, what did you say?"

"More like it's what she did," Deeks said, eyeing his partner.

Kensi spun around while still buttoning up her shirt.

"Naughty, naughty," Sam said, "and good work. Now let's get the hell of here before we attract more attention." Deeks and Kensi piled into the back seat. Sam took G over to the passenger side and removed his handcuffs. G climbed in and shut the door. Sam climbed into the car. "Be ready on the exit gate for problems."

"Still shoot to kill?"

"Until we know for sure, shoot to put down, not kill." He pulled up to the gate. "Compliance, leaving for the day." Sam handed the woman his ID.

"You'll be back tomorrow?" she asked.

"No, next month."

"All right, then." She returned the ID and opened the gate.

Once they started down the PCH, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

"I vote to have forensics get your car," Sam said. "Kensi call OPS and send our secondary team of four agents to retrieve G's car. Time for some debriefing, G."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"You won't when I'm finished with you, G." Sam shot him a stern look.


	5. Poisoned

**Poisoned**

**Chapter 5**

Sam drove back to The Barn and waited for his partner to open up to him on his own which as per usual wasn't happening. "Come on, man, talk to me."

"And say what?" G asked. "Doesn't matter what I say, you'll rip me a new one."

"Yeah, and it was another one of your dumb ass ideas."

"I'll admit it," he said, "there you have my confession." He reclined his seat a couple of notches and crossed his arms.

"I didn't expect an admission of guilt."

"You expected me to deny I wasn't thinking straight?"

"Yeah."

"Don't see the point." G stared out the window.

"When's the last time you ate something?"

"Not hungry."

"That's not what I asked you."

"Just lay off me for a while."

"No, you've forgotten the rules you and I set up after our training."

"I haven't forgotten anything, Sam."

"Okay, what aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, you don't debrief with me and you'll be seeing Nate when we arrive at The Barn."

"So."

Sam took an exit off the freeway and drove onto a side street and pulled to the curb. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked, turning in his seat and facing him.

"Nothing."

"Bull—"

"Just leave me the hell alone!"

"That's what got you into this mess in the first place." Sam sighed. "What happened in there?"

"Nothing."

"Damn it, G, that's not an adequate response and you know it."

"Take me home."

"Not happening, man, you know the rules, debrief or stay at The Barn until further notice."

"I'm not following your rules."

"They're _our_ rules."

G released his seat belt and climbed out of the car.

"What are you doing?" Sam rushed around to the opposite side of the car.

"I'm going home."

"Like hell you are," Sam said, taking out his cell phone. "I've got problems with G."

"Who did you call?"

"Hetty, as per protocol."

"Damn it, give me your phone and let me call a cab."

"G, you're not making sense."

He crossed his arms. "I want to go home." His eyes moistened with tears.

Sam stepped closer to his partner. "What happened in there?"

He swallowed hard and stared over his partner's shoulder, avoiding Sam's eyes.

"Why are you acting this way?"

"I…" He pursed his lips.

"Man, whatever it is, you can tell me."

"No!" G backed up and switched directions, walking up the street.

Sam hurried past him and blocked his movement. "What's going on?" His grasped G's shoulders and held him still. "Don't do this, man, Hetty will rip you the new one, not me."

"You don't understand." He lowered his eyes to the sidewalk between them.

"Look at me, G, help me understand."

"I can't do this." He stared at the sidewalk.

"The debrief?"

He nodded.

"What did they do to you in there?"

"Just take me home," he said, voice quavering.

"Maybe you should be checked out at a hospital."

"Screw you!" G pulled away, strode back to the car, sat down, and closed the door.

Sam sat in the car and stared at his partner. "Something is not right with you."

"Duh."

"Damn it, G, at least tell me something."

"I'd rather have all my teeth pulled out by a dentist than tell you what happened in there."

Sam sighed and closed his door. "At least let me know if you're okay."

"That's simple enough," G said. "I'm not."

"What happened?"

"I can't talk about it." G swiped his tongue across his lower lip.

"Those are the first honest words you've spoken to me," Sam said. He turned the corner and pulled into traffic. "You know what's happening when we get to The Barn."

"Yeah, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Because you can't talk about what happened."

"Yeah."

"What do you feel like eating later?"

"Nothing."

Sam sighed. "I hate when you lose your sense of humor." He stopped by a sandwich shop and ordered three club sandwiches for G and one each for the rest of them.

"I hate it when I can't talk about what happened to me," G said.

"Sorry, man, I'm here when you want to talk."

"Thanks." He stared out the window again.

"We think Potter Creek Laboratories is a front for Pure," Sam said, changing the subject. He knew he wouldn't get any further with his partner.

"I concur."

"Kensi and Deeks found intel which supports the theory."

"And you just waltzed into their facility looking for me?" G asked.

"Yeah."

"That training obviously pays for itself when you now bring more than one alias with you."

"Now I'm glad Hetty insisted our team take the training."

"It's a challenge to determine which alias would be appropriate at any given moment."

"There's where the creativity comes into play."

"There's where I have my…" G's brow furrowed, facing Sam for a moment.

"What is it, G?"

"They used my name, Sam." Tears welled up in his eyes. He turned back to the window not wanting his partner to see. "My _full_ name, Sam. They _all_ used my _full_ name."

"Whatever happened inside there is not your fault."

"I got caught with my proverbial pants down," he said. "It _is_ my fault." He wiped the tears away with his sweatshirt's right sleeve.

Sam parked in his space at The Barn. He climbed out of the Challenger and headed for the door, his partner following him. After Sam placed his hand on the full hand print scanner, the door opened and the team strode inside The Barn.

# # #

Before G sat in his chair, Hetty entered the bullpen.

"Mr. Callen, you all right?"

"I'm… fine."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"It's his, 'I can't talk about it' answer," Sam said.

"We need to take blood and urine specimens immediately, Mr. Callen," she said. "Mr. Hanna, please escort him down to the medical laboratory and infirmary."

"I'm too tired for that."

"Afterward you will speak with Nate."

"Hetty."

"Mr. Callen, you were drugged at least once, and possibly more times."

Sam wrapped his arm around G's shoulders and guided him toward the elevator.

"It is the last place I want to be."

"I know you hate needles, but we need to discover what drugs are in your system."

G entered the laboratory followed by Sam.

"Mr. Callen take this and give us some urine," Larissa, the forensic team's laboratory technician, said.

"If I have any to give."

"If not, I'll need to see you upstairs later."

G grabbed the urine specimen container and entered the bathroom. "I don't need you to hold my hand, Sam." He sniggered.

"Wouldn't offer it up to you." He winked at him and watched G close the door.

A few minutes later, he exited the bathroom with a super concentrated, cloudy, dark yellow urine specimen tinged with blood and handed it to the technician.

"Glad we have you here," she said. "You need to lay down over here." She pointed to a gurney.

"Why?"

"You need fluids and possibly more."

"I'm not drinking bottled water."

"I didn't plan on hydrating you by mouth." The tall, brunette technician brought over a tray with an IV transfusion kit on it.

"No." G backed up into to Sam. "No needles. I hate needles."

"Come on, G, don't be a pain." He placed an arm around his partner's shoulders and guided him toward the gurney.

"I can get on the gurney myself."

"Mr. Callen, please dress in this," Larissa said, presenting him with a hospital gown.

"No way in hell! I'm not staying down here." He shoved the woman's hand away and strode past both her and Sam.

"Do I need to call Hetty?"

"You wouldn't, Sam."

"I will if you walk out the door."

"Damn it." He spun around and plodded back to the gurney. It was the only gurney in the laboratory. He hoped Hetty wouldn't make him stay in the infirmary down the hall from the laboratory.

"Thank you, Mr. Callen, your cooperation will be noted."

"And that means?"

"I'll inform Hetty you did as she requested," she said, patting the gurney.

He pulled off his sweatshirt. Larissa took it and bagged it as evidence. G grabbed the gown and dressed in it. He climbed onto the gurney and laid down on his back. G watched the technician organize ten plastic test tubes with different colored tops on the stainless steel table. "I hope you plan to leave me with some blood." He had a bad habit—making small talk and joking around when he was nervous. Larissa set up the table with a tourniquet and a vacuum set with a needle. It took every ounce of will power within him to stay on the gurney. He hated needles, but that wasn't what had him wanting to flee. It was flashbacks from Bolivia, South America. Instead of seeing the needle on the table, he saw syringes filled with drugs. His hands sweated and he wiped them on the hospital gown. G flinched when Larissa brought the tourniquet over to his left arm to draw blood. "No!" He jerked his arm away from her.

"Easy G, easy."

He sat upright and moved away from her.

"G, what's going on?"

"I… can't do this," he said, his voice quavering and his chin quivering. He started to climb off the gurney.

"Stay put, G."

"I can give him a tranquilizer after I place the IV," Larissa said. "Lie back, Mr. Callen, and I'll have this finished in no time."

Sam placed his hands on G's shoulders and pressed him backwards until he was flat on the gurney again.

"Please…" He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing away the horrific flashbacks from the torture in Bolivia.

"She'll finish faster if you cooperate." He held and steadied his partner's arm for the technician.

"You don't understand, Sam, it's not the needle." G pulled against his partner's hold on his left arm. "Release me."

"In a few more minutes."

"Damn it!" He pulled harder against Sam's hold.

"G, calm down."

"Stop doing this to me."

"Doing what to you?"

"This… holding my arm down, this… torture, please stop."

"Torture?" Sam's eyebrow raised.

"Crap," G said. "Forget about it."

"What happened?"

"Can't talk about this now." He eyed Larissa.

"We'll talk later."

"I finished taking the blood specimens." She connected the IV infusion kit to the needle in her patient's arm. "Now, we're set for some fluids." After setting up two piggybacked, bags of IV fluid, Larissa injected the IV tubing with a 5 mg dose of Valium. "This should help you feel more relaxed."

"How long do I need to stay down here?" G asked.

"Until your urine is clear and light yellow."

"What?" G sat straight up on the gurney. "No way in hell!"

"G, lie back."

"No."

"Mr. Callen, I have orders to call Hetty if you resist staying here."

"Great." He sighed and laid back.

"Here's a urinal."

"Just wonderful." He rolled his eyes.

"If it's any consolation, I'll stay here with you," Sam said.

"You gonna read me a bedtime story and bring me cookies and milk?"

"If you want me to I will." Sam snickered.

# # #

#

G stared at the man's face with the oddly dyed eyebrows mismatched with a blond mustache. He _was_ familiar. G knew him, but from where? Flash. The pictures changed to Bolivia. The picana in the man's hand came closer to his body. He flinched and screamed in his mind. No escape, the restraints bound tight, cutting into the tender skin on the back of his wrists. The thin yet strong ropes across his chest, digging into his beaten and raw skin.

#

G's eyes flew open. He rolled over, turning away from Sam. _Damn nightmare. I don't need this right now._

"You okay, man?"

"I'm fine." He sighed.

"The truth?"

"A nightmare." G rolled onto his back.

"You had several while you slept."

"How long was I out?"

"Three hours."

"They let me sleep."

"At the place in Malibu?"

"Yeah," G said, "they wanted me to sleep, but I don't know why." He sighed again. "What did she give me?"

"Valium."

"Why?"

"Hetty's orders."

"Drug me?"

"You were agitated."

"And you wouldn't be?" G asked. "Forget I asked. You're as cool as the frozen tundra."

"Not quite, G, but close," he said. "Needles don't bother me."

"I told you, it's not the needles."

"Then what?"

"I'm not so sure I'm ready to talk about this."

"Nate's coming down here later."

"Crap, I can't do Nate, especially not with this."

"Then you'll have to talk to me."

Hetty sauntered into the infirmary. "Mr. Callen, how are you feeling?"

"Okay, ready to get back to the ops."

"Not happening until your doctor releases—"

"My doctor? What the hell?"

"Mr. Callen, you've been poisoned with heavy metals."

"What?" G's jaw dropped. "What kind and how much and when—"

"Slow down, G."

"How the hell did this happen?"

"I've sent one of our secondary teams to your house."

G pulled back the covers and started to climb off the gurney.

"Back into bed, Mr. Callen."

"I need to investigate something."

"Tell me what it is and I'll have the team look into it."

"No!" G said. "You don't understand."

Sam grabbed his partner's right arm and wrestled him onto his back.

"You need to let me—"

"You need to let the auxiliary teams handle the investigation," Hetty said.

"And you don't understand, Hetty."

"If you know something—"

"Damn it!" He sat upright again. "I'm leaving."

"This is one time you're not going AMA, Mr. Callen," she said. "If I need to restrain you to keep you here I will."

"You wouldn't."

"Push it and find out."

"G, I suggest you listen—"

"To hell with this crap!"

"Mr. Callen, what do you need to tell me?"

He sighed. "There was a problem with my water at the house."

"When?"

"About ten day ago, give or take, a week before they kidnapped me," G said.

"What kind of problem?"

"The plumber was vague about the problem."

"Vague?" Sam asked.

"Damn it, I asked him for a report."

"And?"

"He gave me one, but I… was too tired to read it."

"You've been fatigued?" Hetty asked.

"Yes, more than would be accounted for by my job." He sighed.

"It is only one of many symptoms of arsenic poisoning."

G's jaw dropped. "Arsenic?" he asked. "What else?"

"Many drugs, too numerous to get into right now."

"What?"

"You need bed rest and chelation therapy, Mr. Callen," she said. "You are not leaving the infirmary until the doctor clears you for duty."

"But—"

"No buts, Mr. Callen, no arguments, no resisting—"

"Hetty." He sat up straighter in bed.

"Must I place an order for restraints?"

He pursed his lips, holding back the flood of expletives he wanted to hurl at her. _No way in hell was anyone going to restrain him ever again. No way. _"Give me at least a clue about the other drugs."

"I will tell you their effects, but not their names."

"I don't understand why," he said. "It's my body and my life."

"And you're in no condition to deal with the full ramifications of these drugs and their effects," Hetty said. "Either accept what I am willing to give you or receive no information."

"The full ramifications?" G asked. "What kind of—"

"G, don't push it," Sam said.

"You're siding with her?"

"Too much on your platter—"

"Platter? I thought it was a plate?"

"Yours is a platter size full of crap."

"Okay, Hetty, at least for now, but later I want the whole report."

"And you'll have it, Mr. Callen," she said. "Hallucinogens. Uppers. Sedatives. Tranquilizers. And one unknown effect due to the inability to identify the drug used."

"Makes sense," G said.

"What makes sense, G?"

"I felt as if I were hallucinating."

"You couldn't see your eyes, but they were blood shot."

"I'd like to see the video, Hetty."

"I don't think that is—"

"Damn it, all I want to see is the video."

"If you'll allow me to finish, Mr. Callen."

"I don't want to hear the answer," he said. "Just forget it."

"If you insist, I'll send Eric up here with an iPad." Hetty took out her cell phone and texted Eric.

"What no big screen?" He faked a pout.

"G, you're pushing it."

"But first, you need to tell me why you want to see it," Hetty said.

"I'm playing a hunch."

"Playing a hunch?" Sam asked.

"Okay…" He didn't want to talk about what happened in Bolivia until he could identify the man with the mismatched brows and mustache. "There's a man I saw in Malibu who looks familiar to me."

Eric came into the infirmary and gave Hetty the iPad.

"I'll accept your answer for now, but if you recognize anyone you will inform me." She handed him the iPad.

G grasped it and pressed the play button on the video. The moment he saw the man in question, his jaw dropped. "It can't be, he's dead," he said. "I saw him die, I swear I saw him die."


	6. Charles Waite

**Charles Waite**

**Chapter 6**

"Mr. Callen?"

"I need to speak with you alone." G handed the iPad back to her.

Sam exited the laboratory leaving his partner with Hetty.

"What's this all about?" She asked.

"I knew this guy from the CIA," he said. "He and I were partners."

"After the partnership with your 'wife'?"

"Yes," he said, "but, he was an odd agent, an odd man."

"How so?"

"A narcissist for one," G said. "He was turned down for several promotions. He wanted to be my supervisor. I was his. He hated it."

"As a narcissist would, Mr. Callen," she said. "A name?"

"Charles Waite."

"I'll get Eric on it right away." She started to turn away from her agent.

"Hetty, could you hold on a minute, there's more."

She eyed him.

G sighed hard and long. "Charles and I were close friends," he said. "We had a mission in Bolivia. A group of us served there together, investigating a drug ring in the US tied to an arms dealer. Our team was ambushed, and we served almost a year in prison before the CIA sent a team into rescue us. Charles Waite died in prison."

"Died in prison?" Her left eyebrow raised.

"I saw him die, Hetty."

"And yet you're telling me the man in the video is your friend, Charles Waite?"

"I know it sounds crazy," G said. "It's not the drugs, I swear."

"I believe you, Mr. Callen."

"But how is it possible?"

"How did he die?"

He sighed. "I cannot tell you." No one knew, not even the CIA.

"I'll get a report from the CIA."

"Not possible."

"What?"

"I never debriefed with them," G said. "I never wrote a report."

"Never?"

"They let me go over the incident, because I refused to debrief with the operational psychologist."

"Mr. Callen, this is highly irregular even for the CIA," she said. "You came with high recommendations from them."

"And I still can't talk about this," G said. "And now that he's alive, damn, it makes the mission even more suspect."

"Suspect?"

"Yes, I wonder if Charles didn't have us arrested for some ulterior motive, after all he is a narcissist."

"He is possibly more than a narcissist in that case."

"Okay, where are you going with this, Hetty?"

"I'll need to run this by Nate," she said. "And you need to debrief with him."

"Absolutely no way."

"Mr. Callen, this is no longer a choice, but an order."

"I _might_ be able to debrief with Sam." _That possibility might not happen if I don't stop bottling this up inside me._

"But you're hesitant to do it with your partner as well?"

"There are reasons behind my inability to be a team player, and my limited trust for my partner or anyone else for that matter," G said. "And it all began in Bolivia."

"I hope we can end it in Bolivia, Mr. Callen."

"Not if Charles Waite is still alive, it changes everything." He sighed. "It means he tricked me into believing he died."

"Betrayal?"

"Yeah, of major proportions, more than you can possibly understand."

"Makes me wonder what happened to you in Bolivia," she said. "It also makes it more imperative that you debrief with Nate or Sam. It is time to let this go before it eats you alive."

"It is past eating me alive, Hetty, way past that." G pursed his lips and stared straight ahead at the stark white, powder-coated, steel medicine cabinets which lined a wall the length of the ten by twenty foot laboratory.

"I admitted you to the infirmary."

"I can't stay here?"

"No, you need to be closely monitored when chelation therapy begins."

"Great." His forehead creased.

"And until Mr. Waite's background check is finished, I'd rather have you in the most secure area of NCIS."

"You think he'll come to get me?"

"I have my own theories about Pure's identity now that you've shared this."

G glanced at her sideways. "And that means?"

"He _is _Pure."

"Follows my thoughts too," he said. And it followed his fears as well, but he'd never share that with his supervisor or his partner. "And if it is true, we're dealing with a man who has a vindictive attitude, who wishes to see me suffer, because of what happened in Bolivia."

"Another reason for you to deal with what occurred there."

He sighed.

"Well, Mr. Callen, everything is beginning to point in that direction."

"Damn it, I had hoped to never deal with it again."

"If Charles Waite used Bolivia and what occurred there to torture you," Hetty said. "Anyone could use your other skeletons hidden in your closet to torture you."

# # #

After G settled in the infirmary, his partner entered his private suite and sat in a chair next to the bed. "Hetty sent you in here?" At least, this private suite wasn't stark white as the infirmary, the pale green walls provided the soothing effect as they were intended to do.

"Yep."

G sighed. "Any new intel on Charles Waite?" He crossed his arms.

"Nope, Eric and Nell are working on it," Sam said.

"And my house?"

"Two teams on it now working on your house."

"Two?"

"Yep, Hetty wants a thorough investigation."

"She suspects something."

"Yep, and she's not telling anyone what she's searching for at this point."

"I gave her enough to go on and investigate."

"She said that."

"And that I needed to debrief with you or Nate, right?"

"Yep."

"I've never told anyone, Sam, and I don't know if I can tell you or Nate," G said. "First, I need to talk about what happened at Potter Creek Laboratories in Malibu. I wish, damn, I wish I could've stopped what happened in Bolivia," he said. "I did this time at the lab and I did stuff I'm not proud of." He stared down at the bed.

"Anything you did to save yourself—"

"Damn it, Sam, I assaulted them." He crossed his arms. "I wanted to lash out at these men, because of what happened back then."

"You fought back, G, and that's all you did."

"No!" He lifted his head. "I tortured them in the exact manner I was tortured. I hurt them how I was hurt years ago. I committed the same despicable acts on them which were done to me. That's sadistic."

"You did it for survival."

"And what if it was to inflict the literal pain and torment which was done to me in Bolivia?"

"Then it was, man, you're alive and unscathed."

"I'm not so sure, Sam," G said. "My mind and emotions are not unscathed. They're fraught with images and disgusting thoughts and desires and—"

"What happened to you in Bolivia, G?"

"I don't know if I can tell you."

"You told me enough that I'm able to put some of the pieces together, but you need to share more," Sam said. "It would help you heal. Was it similar to what happened to me in Bosnia?"

"Worse, much worse," G said. "I had to decide who died."

"Similar to me—the lack of oxygen and my fellow soldier's injuries determined who died."

"My best friend was Charles," he said, "he's the only one I talked to while in prison. And I was the only one he talked to. We confided in each other about our fears and dreams, if we ever got out alive." G drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "They forced me to decide who lived and who died, I chose him. I lived and he, damn it, he had to die. But, now I find out he's alive."

"I would've done the same thing," Sam said.

"You don't understand," G said. "He was my best friend at the CIA." He stared across the room not wanting Sam to see his eyes and the tears welling up in them. _I wish there was a window down here. I could use a distraction right now._

"I'm sorry, G."

"If I could've made another choice, I would've, believe me, it was the last choice I'd ever want to make," he said. "And now I'm reliving the whole scenario which happened years ago. It is Bolivia all over again. I don't know if I can live through this again. I can't do it like I did with Bolivia and bury it. Can't do this any more. Yet Charles kidnapping me has triggered those damnable memories again."

"I'm here if you need me," Sam said.

"There's more," G said. "Before, damn it, before I had to decide, my captors raped me several times on different days and in front of Charles. While I wept after the rapes, he held me and comforted me." G buried his face between his knees and sniffled. "Then I had to choose who was to die, him or me. Charles held me, Sam, he held me." G cried. "And I picked him instead of myself. I never would've made it through those long months with those repeated tortures and rapes without him."

"I'm sorry, G," he said. "I would've buried this too."

"But, did he really comfort me, Sam?" G asked. "Or did Charles fake everything? Did he fake consoling me? I just don't know any more. I'm doubting my own sanity. I know what I saw, damn it, and it was Charles Waite watching me. I know what I felt and it was Charles Waite holding me in his arms. And now he's alive to remind me of what I did to him. He used that Picana to torture my mind and body and soul for the decisions I made in Bolivia. They forced me to watch while they tortured him to death," G said. "It was a long drawn out torture session. He pleaded with his eyes, never crying out, for a speedy death. I wanted to find a knife and stab him to death. I wanted to put him out of his misery. Why didn't I do that for him? It was the least I could've done for him. And now, damn it, now it's all a despicable lie. He used me, but to what end? To drive me to the brink of insanity? I'm so close, Sam, too close." He rocked front to back with his arms clasped around his knees.

"You need to tell Nate about this." Sam patted his partner's right shoulder. "I'm here if you need a shoulder to cry on."

"Literally or figuratively?"

"Both, G."

"I don't know if I can talk to anyone but you," G said. "I haven't told Hetty about this."

"Nate can help you sort reality from—"

"Insanity?" G pulled his knees closer to his chest, steeling himself from more flashbacks of the torture and rapes he endured twenty years ago.

# # #

Nate sauntered down the hallway to Callen's private room in the infirmary. He stood in the doorway, watching the interaction between Callen and Sam. The moment he saw a break in the conversing, he entered the room. "Callen," Nate said. "I believe I can help you with this confusion."

"Did Hetty send you too?" G asked. "She told me I needed to speak to either one of you, not both."

"She changed her mind."

"Why am I the last to know?" He sighed.

"The mystery drug in your system turns out to be an experimental, high-potency hallucinogen which the army and the CIA started to test twenty years ago."

"Test on whom?"

"Their field agents."

"What?" G's jaw dropped.

"The same levels found in your blood when you returned after being kidnapped on the beach, were found years ago in your blood after you were released from prison," Nate said. "Yes, and apparently you were Charles Waite's guinea pig twenty years ago and his guinea pig at Potter Creek Laboratory."

"Damn it."

"The water supply at your house contained enough of the drug to cause you to embark on dangerous and precarious undertakings, which an undercover agent shouldn't and wouldn't carry out, especially an agent who is a highly trained and well seasoned operative."

"You mean like running on the beach by myself?"

"Precisely."

"That's what Hetty ordered the teams to uncover at my house?"

"Yes, and much more," Nate said, leaned against a wall and crossed his arms.

"But to what end would Charles use this drug?"

"To capture you was one purpose," he said.

"Could the drug explain thinking I saw my friend die?"

"That drug given to you and a few injections of curare into the supposed victim of torture."

"Huh?" G glanced sideways at him.

"Drug you and administer death simulating drugs to Charles," Nate said. "Charles appears to die, you hallucinate and believe he dies."

The more knowledge G had about what really had happened in Bolivia, the more he doubted himself. He knew there had to be more motives behind Charles drugging then to kidnap him. _First and foremost, have I remembered the truth about what occurred in Bolivia? If I was drugged with a hallucinogen anything I remembered might be a lie. Maybe in Bolivia Charles wanted my sanity. Maybe my sanity is he wanted now. Maybe my sanity is all he ever wanted. _That thought caused a shudder to ripple through G's whole body.


	7. The Truth Shall Set You Free

**The Truth Shall Set You Free**

**Chapter 7**

G rolled over in bed again. The nightmares had returned with a vengeance, but this time they were different. He dreamt about things which didn't happen the way he originally remembered them. More than once, he awakened and thought he was in Bolivia. The dream was shocking and realistic, but it was all wrong. He wondered if that drug had been given to him before it was routed into the water system at his Toluca Lake house. It wouldn't make sense though, because the guy would've had to follow him wherever he lived. All G knew was something was different about these dreams. One nightmare in particular terrified him, and he couldn't shake the feeling or the graphic, execrable images. He rolled over to face the door again, bringing the blanket up to his chin. G shivered, but he wasn't cold.

He watched Sam enter his room. "Hetty sent you here, again?"

"Yeah, I have an assignment."

"Sam, can't you just straight out tell me?"

"You're not going to like it, but I have my orders and I'll carry out my assignment."

"What's with the cloak-and-dagger crap?"

Sam strode over to the opposite side of the bed and climbed onto it.

"What the hell?" G asked. "What are you doing?" He started to turn over.

"Face the door."

"Man, this is too weird, I'm not inclined in that way."

"Didn't say you were." Sam rolled over and wrapped his left arm around G's chest.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Following orders."

"Hetty's?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I give, what's this about?"

"It's about keeping you connected to the human touch."

G sighed. The more he remembered the truth, the more G wanted to escape into his own world and withdraw from his team. Maybe that was Charles's plan? The world in between the lies and the truth drew G deeper into insanity. Hetty planned to keep G connected to his team and the truth.

"And?"

"She's right," he said. "How does she know these things?"

"Only one way, G, she's experienced what you're going through herself."

"Not Hetty, not our little chupacabra."

"Yep."

"How far are you gonna take this?"

"Be careful what you say, G, my arm is close to your neck."

"What, now you're gonna choke me?"

"Place you in a choke hold and have my way with you."

"See, there you are messing with me," G said. "Should I take you seriously?"

"I'll take you." Sam chuckled and tightened his hold around G's chest. "I'm here if you need to talk. I'm curious why you've avoided Nate."

"You're always curious, sometimes too curious for my tastes."

The corners of Sam's mouth turned upward. "Why are you avoiding him?" He asked. "You should be debriefing with him not me."

"If you think I protested when you climbed into my bed to hold me, I'd literally kick him out of my bed."

"Seriously G, why are you avoiding him?"

He pulled away from Sam.

"You're not getting away from me so I suggest you talk."

"Damn it." He sighed. "He looks too much like Charles."

"The blond mustache is fake?"

"Yeah."

"You should tell Nate, because he thinks he said something wrong."

"I'm not ready to tell Nate."

"When you are, make sure he knows and you apologize."

"What? Apologize?"

"Yeah, man, apologize, because you rejected him too many times."

"Wasn't my intention." G sighed.

"Any nightmares?"

"No."

"Be careful how you respond to my questions."

"Why?"

"Your room is monitored twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."

"What?"

"Sorry, G, no privacy."

"All because of?"

"Charles Waite."

"Damn, I'm beginning to hate this guy."

"Beginning to?" Sam asked. "I'm past starting to hate him."

"Okay, wrong choice of words."

"You got that right, nightmares?"

"Yeah, several just before you came in here."

"And?" Sam sighed. "We playing that avoidance game with you talking?"

"I don't know if I can talk to you or anyone about this stuff."

"The memories, you so vaguely refer to as stuff, are probably the first truths about what Charles did to you."

G squeezed his eyes shut. If this was the real truth, he didn't know if he could accept it and live with himself.

"G?"

"Can you leave now?"

"What?"

"I said, leave."

"No, now is the time you need me."

"Damn it." G sucked on his lower lip. "I can't say it to you."

"Sexual in nature?"

"How did you—"

"My theory is—"

"I'm not sure I want to hear your theory."

"He raped you, didn't he?" G jerked away from Sam, trying to make some space between them. Sam pulled G closer to his body. "Yes?"

"Damn it, yes."

"Stockholm Syndrome."

"What?"

"You remembered it the first time under the influence of a powerful hallucinogen which altered your reality."

"And you're saying I bonded to Charles?"

"I'm saying you denied the truth easier, because of that drug."

"Denied it?"

"Yeah, G, you denied it in order to stay sane in that prison," Sam said. "Did you have a cell mate?"

"Why did you have to ask me that?" He jerked his body trying to extricate himself from Sam. A heinous flashback slammed into his mind. His whole body shuddered with the new memory.

"Easy, man, easy," he said. "Talk to me."

"Crap, oh crap," G said, his mind was assaulted with graphic flashbacks. "Hold me tighter, Sam, damn it, it can't be true." His whole body shivered with each new revelation about his time spent at the prison in Bolivia. "He, oh hell, he was my cell mate. This can't be true." Tears fell on his cheeks. "He violated me. He did it. It wasn't a guard who did it. Charles raped me, damn it, he raped me while he held me in his arms, consoling me after I was tortured with the picana." G buried his face in the pillow.

Sam stroked his partner's back. "You are safe now, G, safe to remember what this bastard did to you," he said. "I'm sorry, man."

"No!" G said, another odious flashback collided with his former reality. "_He_ tortured me with the picana. _Charles_ did it. Does this mean that nothing I remembered before was the truth?"

"Yeah, due to that hallucinogen and its effects on your brain."

"Crap, this gets worse with each new discovery."

"That's why you need me here when you're remembering what happened to you."

"The longer I'm off that nasty drug the more I'll remember the truth?"

"I hate to say it, G, but I will."

"Say what, Sam?"

"You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free."

"Now, I owe you a slug."

"I can't help it if that line is on the wall at the CIA."

"You trying to make me hate that place?"

"No, just telling you the _truth _about where you worked."

"The first thing anyone sees when they walk into the CIA, and you would have to remind me."

"What are partners for, G?"

"I slug my partners when they tell me something I don't want to hear or I'm not ready to accept."

"Instead, you need to hug your partner, G, you got the wrong letters." Sam chuckled and wrapped both of his arms around G's chest and hugged him. "Hooyah."

Sam always had to get the last word in, always. The corners of G's mouth turned upward.


	8. Dispersal Agent

**Dispersal Agent**

**Chapter 8**

Hetty strode into Callen's room and sat in a chair, waiting for him to awaken.

G opened and rubbed his eyes, and studied his supervisor. "How long have you been here?" He asked.

"A short time," she said. "The investigation at your home is finished and I came to give you a report on it."

"Okay, that's not typical protocol for you."

"No, it isn't Mr. Callen, but I wanted you to know what the teams discovered before anyone else learns about it."

"It's serious?"

"Very serious." G steeled himself against the next words to emerge from her. "Mr. Waite used arsenic as the agent to disperse the hallucinogen into your water."

"And this means?"

"The designer hallucinogen stays in your body longer than the average drug," Hetty said. "The worst of it? It accumulates and maintains a higher level for a longer period of time. This method of dispersal means a person would only need to be given the arsenic once every couple of months to maintain an acceptable level of the drug."

"What are we talking about here?" G asked. "I was drugged for the past several years."

"No, ever since you worked for the CIA with Charles Waite."

G's jaw dropped. "It's been over twenty years since I worked for the CIA."

"We estimate that Mr. Waite's experimental drug with its state-of-the-art dispersal system compromised you for the past twenty-five years," she said. "We've completed a rigorous cleanse of the water here, as well as NCIS Headquarters finished a purification of their water. Both water systems are now filtered and secured. The altered plumbing in your house consisted of a complex system of pipes and tanks attached to the city water where it entered your home, and our plumbers are still dismantling it."

"What was in my water bottle?"

"A combination of several drugs, the ones which I previously mentioned to you; a sedative, a tranquilizer, an upper, and possibly LSD, although, we haven't isolated the drug, we know it is a hallucinogen."

"What about the plumber?"

"Full-court press revealed his connection to Charles Waite," Hetty said. G sighed. "There's no way on God's green earth you could've known this was happening to you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, don't blame yourself, Mr. Callen," she said.

"I'm surprised I didn't make more ludicrous decisions under the influence of that drug," G said. "Did you find the arsenic and hallucinogen in The Barn's water system?"

"I'm afraid so, though only at levels which would effect someone who has previously been exposed to the arsenic and hallucinogen."

"That means he knows about this place."

"Yes, and he tracked you to Israel and drugged you there as well."

"How?" G asked.

"It takes only a minuscule amount of the laced arsenic to drug you."

"Doesn't long term arsenic poisoning cause damage to the body?"

"It depends on the type of arsenic used and the amount ingested." She stood and moved to the foot of his bed. "In your situation, a microscopic amount of arsenic was introduced into your body every few months, thereby causing the least amount of physical problems. As well, this type of arsenic is the least poisonous to the body."

"Great, now what?"

"After two additional days on chelation therapy, you're reinstated on the case," Hetty said, "provided you don't have more memories."

"None so far," G said. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"You pulled away from human touch after suffering trauma during an ops?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Callen." Hetty stood, winked at her agent, and left the room.

# # #

Sam sauntered into G's room with his partner's sweatshirt and sweatpants on one arm. He stood at the foot of his bed. "You had to ask her."

"What?" G glanced at him sideways.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Oh that, yeah I did, because like you I'm curious."

"I'm getting all the dirty looks from her."

"Sorry Sam." But he wasn't, because liked to watch his partner squirm. It was a game they played with each other trying to get the other to squirm. This time Sam got it.

"Here's your clothes," he said, laying them on the bed. "Shoes are in the closet. Hetty wants you to start exercising again and practicing in the firing range."

"I wonder."

"Wouldn't take much effort on your part."

G shot him a look. "I wonder if I'll have increased accuracy at the firing range with that drug out of my body."

"Well, now you won't need to compensate for being stoned on arsenic and a hallucinogen."

G grabbed a pillow and threw it at his partner.

Sam caught it midair. "I'm not the one who imbibed during and after ops." He cracked a wry smile.

"Is this going to be your newest jab between us?"

"That and your reckless adventures to the beach, alone."

"I couldn't help it," G said. "Where's the love and the hugs?"

"You want a hug just ask," Sam said, chuckling. "I hope you don't have any excuses when I beat your butt in combat training tomorrow afternoon."

"Isn't that too soon?"

"Hetty wants to whip your ass into shape fast."

"I feel whipped already," he said. "I don't need a whopping by you in combat training. Maybe this is payback for asking her about pulling away from human touch?"

"You know her better than I do, it's probably true," Sam said. "You mean you feel wiped."

"That too." G sighed.

"Next time, stay away from the tender subjects," he said. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes to take you for a run."

"A run?" His eyebrows furrowed.

"On our indoor track, man."

"Good." He released the breath he was holding.

"Don't worry, Hetty won't allow you to leave The Barn until you're 100 percent." Sam left.

# # #

The effort it took to dress in his sweats and running shoes exhausted him. After he finished, G sat on the bed panting to catch a breath. Hetty had to be joking. Running? G broke out in a sweat just dressing in his sweats.

"Ready?" Sam asked, entering G's room. He stepped up to his partner's side. "You don't look too good."

"I don't feel good."

"Lie back."

"Why?"

"Just do it." G laid against the pillows. Sam lifted his partner's legs onto the bed. "Better?"

"Yeah."

"You were pale," Sam said, taking out his cell phone and texting.

"Okay, who did you text?"

"Hetty and your doctor."

"Great."

"They should both know about this," he said. "Did you feel faint when you dressed?"

"No, but it exhausted me and I had a difficult time catching my breath."

"Stay here while I talk this over with them."

"Believe me, I won't break out my running man."

"Good, they might think you're having a seizure."

G grabbed a pillow.

"Maybe you ought to reserve your strength for breathing."

"I ought to slug you."

"But it would probably take too much effort on your part." Sam dashed out of G's room before the pillow hit him in the butt.

# # #

After a vitamin B complex injection, G felt better. He and Sam strolled around the indoor running track twice before he needed to rest on a bench. "And you want to engage me in combat training tomorrow afternoon?" G asked, leaning over and panting from the two lap stroll around the track.

"Perhaps we need to pace this slower," Sam said. "You handled the injection better this time." He stretched and then sat on the bench next to his partner.

"I think my fear of needles arose from Bolivia with Charles Waite injecting his drugs into my body," G said. "One thing I've yet to figure out is how he kept me medicated on that hallucinogen all these years. Hetty said it wouldn't take much. I guess if I was high on the hallucinogen I wouldn't have noticed someone giving me something. Still, I've moved a lot."

"Yeah, sometimes once a month."

"What, no snide remark about my instability?"

"Wait for it, it's coming soon." Sam cracked a wry smile. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"You mean because I'm bantering with you?"

"Yeah, it's a sign of wellness for you."

"Or a sign of insanity," G said, the corners of his upper lip turning upward.

"Now I need to slug you," Sam said.


	9. Trust

**Trust**

**Chapter 9**

A nightmare plagued G again. He had hoped the nightmares were over, but this one in particular continued to gnaw at him. He rolled over in bed to face the wall for the fifth time, drawing his knees up to his chest, he whimpered and rocked himself. It was of no use. Normally, the rocking action settled him, but not this time. No longer staying in the infirmary, G now lived on the third level in a private room. Hetty refused to let him stay at his house until Pure was eliminated and that meant G would have to face Charles Waite. He dreaded the day that Charles and him would stand face to face. G climbed out of bed, put on slippers and grabbed his bathrobe. He trudged to the kitchen to fix a mug of tea. At the kitchen table, he nursed his mug of tea while reading yesterday's Daily News.

"Up early," Sam said, coming into the kitchen.

G startled hard, spilling his tea on the newspaper. "Warn me next time."

Sam came behind his partner and massaged his shoulders. "You are tense."

"If you must know, nightmares, okay."

"Thought so." Sam fixed a mug of tea for himself and sat across from G. "Different ones?"

"No, the same one occurs again and again."

"Let's play a game."

"Game?" G glanced at Sam sideways. "What kind of game did you have in mind?"

"I share something about Bosnia and you share something about Bolivia."

"That's not a game, that's a nightmare." G lay the newspaper down on the table, staring at the headline and sipping his tea. "Trust," he said, without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

"You had to come out slugging, huh?" Sam sighed.

"It's the theme of my nightmare."

"Ah, then it makes sense that you would start with it," he said, "tell me more."

"Not much to say."

"What about our partnership?"

G slammed his mug down on the table, tea splashing on the newspaper. He rushed out of the kitchen and into his room, closing and locking his bedroom door.

Sam tried the doorknob. "Damn," he said. "Okay, G, come on, man, open this door." He removed his lock picking set and inserted it into the door. "I'm taking out my lock pick set." Before he could pick the lock, the door opened. "Sorry."

"Is that all you have to say?" G was dressed in his grey sweats and running shoes.

"Wait a minute, G, I'll run with you."

"I'm not running, I'm leaving," he said, sliding past his partner.

Sam grabbed G's left forearm and flipped his partner around to face him. "You can't leave here."

"Watch me."

"All because I—"

"No, because I can't take this any more."

"Take what?"

"Everything," he said, "now release my arm." Sam let go and watched his partner walk toward the elevator.

# # #

G passed the elevator and took the stairs, two at a time. He needed the exercise and it gave him time to think of what he'd say to whomever he met on his way out of the building. After reaching the first level, G strode toward the exit doors. Before he reached for the handle Hetty came through the doors. _Damn it. This is the last person I want to speak with right now._

"Mr. Callen, you must be feeling better, follow me please."

"Hetty!"

"Now."

"I'm leaving—"

"You walk out those doors and you're suspended, indefinitely, understood?"

G spun on his heels and followed her into the archive room where he found Hetty making a pot of tea and readying two tea cups and saucers.

"I just had—"

"Sit, Mr. Callen, we need to talk."

He sighed. "Hetty, I just had some tea and I don't want any more right now and besides—"

"Sit."

_Damn._ He sat on the leather couch, slouching down and averting his eyes to the bookshelf across from him.

Hetty handed him a tea cup on a saucer and sat in a chair close to him, resting her saucer on her lap. "Trust is earned," she said, "and Sam has earned that right to receive your trust in him." She took several sips of tea and set the saucer and cup on an end table. "Charles Waite earned that right through Machiavellian means."

"Right now I can't trust anyone." Tears formed in his eyes.

"I see," she said, "in that situation, it's best that you stay under the protective umbrella of The Barn and NCIS."

Without drinking the tea, he set his saucer and tea cup on the end table and stood. "No."

"Mr. Callen, that is not a suggestion, but an order."

"Suspend me if you want, I can no longer stay here knowing what I'm remembering and dreaming about and stay… sane."

"Perhaps if you spoke to Nate—"

"No!" He stormed out of the archive room and hurried toward the exit doors. _Sam. Damn it. _His partner blocked his exit from the building. "I swear if you do this I'll…"

"You'll what, G?" he asked. "Plow me down."

"Very funny." It was in one way; he imagined knocking his partner down to the Mexican tile floor and pummeling him again and again until he cried 'uncle.' But, he knew Sam would never give up or in to his demands to be the physical top dog in the partnership, nor did G want his partner to become the physical underdog, because he relied on and needed Sam's physical prowess when it came to taking down an enemy. Yet, there was much more to their partnership than Sam's physical abilities. It was a substance like glue, keeping them connected and relying on one another, and acknowledging that substance's existence caused G to shudder within knowing how easy it could be destroyed.

"I guess you two need to hash this out," Hetty said, coming along side Callen.

"There's nothing to _hash_ out," G said, "I'm done with this partnership crap."

"The partnership, you so crassly refer to as crap, is the foundation of your elite team."

"What?" He glanced at her sideways.

"Without his relationship to you here and in the field, your team is history," Hetty said. "Is that what you want?"

"Huh?"

"You need Mr. Hanna more than you care to admit to him or me or yourself."

"I have admitted it to myself and that is the crux of my problem."

"Ah, now we are getting somewhere," she said, "I think an intervention with Nate is necessary."

"I can't talk about this to you or Nate or Sam."

"Can't talk about trust?"

"Can't talk about needing someone and needing to rely on someone and needing—" With the memory of Charles's betrayal bursting through the words in his mind, G spun on his heels and rushed toward the stairs to the third floor.

"Go Mr. Hanna, go and shelter your partner from the memories of Charles Waite tormenting him." Hetty's brow furrowed as she watched the battle for her senior agent's sanity play out before her, knowing that if Callen failed to trust again her elite team's future was in jeopardy.


	10. Betrayal and Trust

**Betrayal and Trust**

**Chapter 10**

G rushed upstairs and into his private bedroom on the third floor of The Barn and hid in the closet, inching backward until he was wedged into the far corner of the walk-in closet. The flashbacks of Charles's first attack on him coursed through his mind. He shuddered with each new execrable image and shoved his face between his drawn up knees, encircling his arms around his knees.

Sam entered G's private bedroom and searched the room and bathroom until he found his partner sitting on the closet floor. He inched into the closet until he was less than a foot away from G and sat cross-legged on the carpet.

"No games."

"No problem."

"I feel as if my whole world is turned upside down with these memories of Charles and what he did to me." G shrugged his shoulders. "Trust is betrayal and betrayal is trust. I trusted him with my thoughts, emotions, and my life, and now I discovered he lied to me. Worse, I've remembered when the betrayal began, and it was well before Bolivia. I don't know how I'm gonna resolve this and move on."

"Talk it through with me as you are doing right now."

"Easier said than done, because trust is the foundation or the glue in our relationship."

"And?"

"I don't know if I trust you now."

"There's no rush, no pressure, take your time."

"We have an ops looming over our heads and I need to be functional for it."

"Hetty postponed anything to do with Pure."

"Anything?"

"Well, except what you're dealing with, G."

"You had me worried for a minute," he said. "All I feel like doing is hiding or running away from you and our team."

"I think I'd feel the same way if someone who I had trusted betrayed me." Sam moved closer to G. "I think we need to continue where we left off."

"What do you mean?"

"I hold you and you talk to me about what happened."

"No perving on me, Sam."

"What?"

"Perving."

"I have absolutely no desire to have a sexual relationship with you."

G sighed. "Good, I wondered."

"Don't need to wonder about me," Sam said. "But I do believe you need to be held."

"I want it, but don't want it."

"We don't need to do it in a bed as before, right here is fine."

"Is this Hetty's idea?"

"Nope, mine, a spinoff from Navy SEAL training," he said.

"How so?"

Sam laid on the closet floor on his side. "Join me."

"Tell me."

"As a Navy SEAL, your partner and the trust you place in him are the foundations of a strong team."

"Teamwork is everything?"

"Yeah and without trust there's no team," Sam said. "Join me."

G inched over to face his partner. Everything inside him screamed 'get away and fast,' but he stayed facing Sam. "Now what?"

"Back to me."

"I don't know—"

"Don't think, G, move," Sam said. "Act as if your life and your survival on this ops is contingent on your connection with me."

He rolled over until his back faced Sam's body.

"Inch backward into me."

"Damn it, you don't know how hard this is for me."

"Stop thinking about it and follow through," Sam said. "Pretend you're on a Navy SEALs mission and your very life and existence depends on our partnership and our team relationship." He wrapped his arms around G's chest, pulling him snug against his body. "No man left behind. Understood? That means you, G, I'm not leaving you behind suffering from the aftereffects of what Charles Waite did to you. You're on my team and I'm on your team. We're partners." G relaxed in Sam's arms. "There, the first sign of trust, relaxing and knowing your teammate is here to protect you at all costs. You and I are gonna endure Hell Week in a different way though. You tell me what Charles did to you and I'll support you and hold you. It will be as if you and what you endured are the raft and I am the team which lifts you up in the air and holds you above my head."

G closed his eyes. "I got the word picture, thanks Sam, it's clear in my head."

"Now, simply let go and allow me to support you."

He sucked in a huge breath and released it slow. "I remember Charles drugging me for the first time."

"How long before the mission to Bolivia?"

"At least six months," G said, "I had my own office and Charles didn't. He was jealous. I kept it low key, never talking about my office and how I enjoyed it, even though I did."

"So you couldn't have a normal supervisor to trainee relationship?"

"Never."

"He believed you wanted one-upmanship?"

"Yeah, but I didn't, I purposely kept that part of our relationship low key knowing he was extremely jealous." G remembered back to how odd it felt to be a supervisor over someone who didn't wished to be supervised. Charles only wanted to be top dog over him. A constant power struggle ensued when they faced anything together. It was supposed to be a team, a partnership, and it was anything but that. "Charles visited me in my office on a daily basis. We engaged in small talk for the most part. I stayed away from any mention of a partnership, yet that is what I needed from him."

"And Charles didn't want that from you?"

"No, he wanted to rule over me." G remembered the day Charles drugged him as if it happened this morning. He shivered and jerked away from Sam.

"Easy, G, we _have_ a partnership." Sam redoubled his efforts and drew G snug against his body. "You and I are a team."

"He and I sat on the sofa in my office talking and joking around, as if it were an ordinary day in our relationship." He shuddered hard, flashing back to the scene in his office. "In a quick maneuver, Charles grabbed me and wrestled me onto the carpet, shoving me face down and smashing my face sideways into the carpet. He kneed my upper back hard, knocking the wind out of me. I came around, still not breathing normal, and he was injecting something into my neck. After a few minutes, my body was reduced to a flaccid, lethargic, and unresponsive form, yet I was aware of everything happening around me. He positioned me before the sofa, placing me on my knees with my torso on the sofa. Afterward, he secured my hands behind my back with handcuffs. I couldn't scream or talk due to the drug he gave me. Charles left me there."

"He left the room?"

"I guess, but I was too drugged to think about his whereabouts," G said. "He returned a few hours later. I know that because of when I took my breaks and when I left for the day. This is the part, damn, it's hard to talk about it." He squeezed his eyes shut pushing away the execrable images of Charles's violation.

"Don't think simply tell me."

He shivered, tears wetting his face. "Charles stripped off my pants and raped me." Sam tightened his hold on G. "Yes, tighter. It hurt and I screamed and cried, but he didn't stop. He told me to scream all I wanted, because no one was there to stop him from getting what he wanted. I knew he wanted one thing and it wasn't sexual gratification. He wanted control over me."

"Sounds about right, G, he wanted leverage in your relationship."

"After that day, he had it, but I never understood why or how," G said. "I just knew things were different and I felt odd. It wasn't from the rapes which had become a daily occurrence by the fifth day of our altered relationship. It was the drugs, but I didn't figure it out, ever, until now." He sighed. "Worse stuff happened than getting raped."

"Worse?"

"Yeah, he forced me to amend his records."

"Which ones, G?"

"Anything where he received poor reviews and failed to make the promotions he sought." He remembered that nightmarish time in the CIA's archive room where it took over eight hours to change those documents.

"Doesn't that pretty much describe his promotions?"

"Yeah, Sam, he didn't get anything he wanted and thought I was to blame for his losses," G said. "While he raped me, I was forced to redact the information on those documents."

"What, that's insane?" Sam said. "I'm sorry he put you through that."

"It was too, but I decided to mark my changes with a code with the possibility that someday I could look back and prove those were altered documents."

"How?"

"I used morse code in the only two letters I could remember, my initials, G and C."

"That is one of the best demonstrations of standard operating procedure I've seen you display, while beside the one with that extreme militia group and your bobby pin," Sam said. "I think Hetty needs to know about those altered documents. Your CIA record needs to be changed to reflect the truth. Anything else you need to share, G?"

"No, that's where it all began, my office and Charles's need to control my world."

"Sounds as if this guy is beyond a narcissist with these new revelations about his behavior."

"I wished I never befriended him," G said. "I used to wonder why no one else wanted to be his friend, that is until he raped me." _Now I have to face this bastard, and all I can think of doing is destroying his life. If it was legal, I'd drug Charles. _It was time to turn the tables on Charles and his life, which meant confronting him and Charles's organization, Pure.


	11. Going Ballistic

**Going Ballistic**

**Chapter 11**

Sam searched the upper level of The Barn for his partner. He took out his cell phone and dialed G's number. No answer. Damn it, he imagined Hetty going ballistic. G started to have lucid moments since he spoke with him about the first time Charles Waite altered the partnership dynamics. Sam berated himself for trusting G's judgment. Only two days past since G's final chelation therapy session not enough time for his partner to get reoriented to being on an ops. He only hoped his partner hadn't gone and done something stupid. Sam took the stairs two at a time rather than the slower elevator. In the bullpen, he grabbed his weapon and badge and dashed toward the exit.

"Mr. Hanna!" Hetty yelled from across the expanse of The Barn.

Damn it. Sam strode toward his supervisor's semi-enclosed office.

"Where's Mr. Callen?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," he said, trying to keep a little smirk on his face to hide the fact he didn't have a clue.

"Is that so," she said, "looks as if you're planning a rescue mission without the benefit of Mr. Deeks's help?" Hetty stood up and came around to her agent where he stood on the other side of her desk. "Please, Sam, take Mr. Deeks and go find our wayward agent before he gets himself maimed or worse, killed. I don't know why on earth he'd do this."

"I know, he's pissed and bent on revenge."

"He told you this?"

"Not exactly, but the look on his face after he told me what Charles did to start this whole mess, says he's out for blood and probably not thinking straight."

"Please take the assault weapons and remember, shoot to kill, we take no prisoners."

Sam spun on his heels and left Hetty's office. On the way to the armory, he stopped by the bullpen. "Seen Deeks?"

"Shooting range, Sam," Kensi said. "Mind if I ride along with you guys?"

"Nope." He strode toward the armory and shooting range. "Assault weapons and the extras, Kens. Did Callen say anything to you before he left?"

"I never saw him."

"He must've left before anyone woke up." Damn it. In the armory, Sam grabbed an extra assault rifle for his partner. He hoped G took something more than his SIG-Sauer P228 and Glock 17 with a silencer attached to it. Those weren't enough fire power for dealing with Pure. Now Sam's impromptu method for ops was about to come into play. Unlike Deeks and Kensi who rehearsed their plans out loud or in their heads, Sam and G both intuited and improvised during an ops. They kept their end goal in sight and that's about it. "Deeks, ready?" he asked, watching his fellow agent gather the necessary fire power for their mission.

"Grabbing my weapons and ammo right now," he said. "What did he do now?"

"Unknown at this point, but he was pissed and that's an understatement."

"A pissed Callen is not someone I want to deal with."

"Not me either," Kensi said. She gathered their accessories and stashed them in a leather satchel.

"All of us are about to come into direct contact with him and Pure," Sam said, throwing a duffle bag filled with their gear over his shoulder. "Let's move it."

Hetty met Sam and the team halfway to the exit. "Your burn phones and their loaded with the latest intel on Pure and Charles Waite." She handed them their phones. "Make sure Mr. Callen gets one of these when you catch up with him."

Sam pocketed the extra phone in the side of the duffle bag.

"Please bring him back in one piece."

"And hopefully without any new bullet holes in him," Sam said.

"Preferably," Hetty said, watching her elite team leave The Barn.

# # #

Dressed in black from head to toe with a ski mask covering his face except his eyes, nostrils, and mouth, G waited and surveyed the buildings from his hidden position in the landscaping which surrounded 3001 Potter Canyon Road in Malibu in the darkness. After several hours of observing and monitoring the surveillance system and the sweeps it performed over specific areas of the grounds, he knew where he'd enter the building. G refused to deal with the necessary ID which would be requested at the security gate. Instead, he had spent several hours setting up a series of explosive devices to make his entrance into the laboratory easier. He wanted to capture Charles Waite and didn't want anything to stand in his way.

G hoisted the small duffle bag over his shoulder and edged closer to the building, staying in the shadows and under the stand of fir trees which enclosed Potter Creek Laboratories on the West side. By the delivery entrance, he set the duffle bag on the cement walkway closest to an overhead door and removed several explosive devices. He positioned three on the overhead door, grabbed the duffle bag, and stepped back under the cover of the fir stand. Afterward G dialed his burn phone detonating the explosive devices. He waited a few minutes, observed the area for any movement, and edged back into the open. A huge gaping hole was blasted into the overhead door. G threw his duffle bag through the hole and onto a platform and afterward jumped up onto the platform, drawing his silenced Glock 17. He scanned the interior of the docking bay with his flashlight and gun. It was empty. Now he wondered if Pure had vacated the location. G inched into the cavity of the huge docking bay and continued to scan left and right. No boxes. No containers. No processing stations. This didn't make sense.

A loud creaking noise, as if a heavy door had opened, echoed throughout the empty docking bay. G stopped short and shimmied close to the nearest wall. He dropped the duffle bag at his feet and crouched down to unzip it and removed one of his more deadly weapons, one which could blow a hole through anyone, a Smith and Wesson 500. It was one of his own preferred purchases for the Pure mission. No silencer and he didn't give a crap. If you're gonna blow someone away everyone within earshot should know about it, at least that was his theory. Footfall close by sent chills up and down G's spine. He swallowed hard and licked his lower lip. G readied his S & W 500 with both hands waiting for the unsub to come closer. His hands started to sweat. _Damn it._ He cocked the trigger and aimed the gun in the direction of the footfall which resonated louder and louder in his ears as if they were the heart beat of the unsub. At the last minute before the unsub came into his view, G shined the flashlight in their eyes.

"Federal agent!" The unsub lunged in his direction and G fired off one round and watched a muscular man, taller than Sam's height, clutch his chest, and fall face first on the cement floor at this feet. He illuminated the dead man's body with the flashlight. His gun still smoked in his hands and the unsub's body smoked too where the bullet had gone clear through him. G was thankful the man didn't cry out when he was shot. The dead unsub wore a security guard's uniform and yet he carried no weapon. Odd.

G unloaded his S & W 500 into his duffle bag and exchanged it for his Glock 17 with the silencer which weighed about half that of the S & W and didn't have the kickback of the S & W. He grabbed his duffle bag, hoisted it over his left shoulder, and edged toward the direction from which the guard had come. When he saw a door ajar, he sidled up to the door jamb, and peeked around the corner into a hallway. It was dimly lit and reminded G of the hallway downstairs in this building which resembled those in Bolivia, yet the lightbulbs in this hallway had fixtures covering them. He shuddered and slipped through the doorway, glancing down the hallway to his left and then right. The schematics he'd ripped off from Eric's computer showed this as the main route to the front desk and into the bowels of the building. He chose to go deeper into the core of the laboratory, turning left and edging along the wall while glancing back over his shoulder every twenty feet or so to check for other possible unsubs. G came along side a room with numerous windows which faced the hallway. After glancing inside he found no one in the room which was filled with beakers and test tubes of different sizes and testing equipment. He edged past the room and discovered a door after the windows.

Voices back down the hallway from which he came, caused G's shivering to return. As they neared his position, he searched for a door to a room where he could hide. Besides the window walled laboratory, he found nothing. Panic started to rise from his gut, he swallowed down his fear and the bile rising up to the back of his throat. Time was ticking closer to these men finding out where he was. G sprinted down the hallway, keeping his feet light on the white linoleum floor. Another door some forty feet down the hallway looked promising. G pressed his ear to the door, heard nothing and opened it.

His jaw dropped.

This was the interrogation room in which the video camera had been used. He kept the door open and crouched down behind it waiting for the unsubs attached to those voices. He dropped his duffle bag on the cement floor next to him and edged toward the open door and keeping out of the hallway light. G recognized one voice, Charles's. He backed away from the door, dragging his duffle bag with him. Flashes of images from Bolivia bombarded his brain, Charles brandishing the picana and torturing him with it. G pushed the images from his mind and concentrated on the voice he had now come to hate.

"What's this door doing open?" Charles asked in his thick Australian accent. "Dale bloody better keep these doors closed. Damn him." He stuck his head through the doorway and peeked around the corner before starting to close the door.

G fired off two rounds with his silenced Glock 17. One hit the door handle and Charles's right hand. The second one ricocheted off the door and glanced Charles's right shoulder.

"Bastard!" Charles flipped the light switch and saw his assailant.

"You're damned right!" He kept the gun trained on his former friend.

"I'm glad you're not the great shot you used to be."

"I had the clear disadvantage of a dark room."

"Good excuse, Callen."

"And your drugs."

"Ah, you discovered the drugs I used to keep you under my control all these years."

"No, to keep me from learning the truth about what really happened in Bolivia."

Charles sighed. "You're full of your self."

"No, that's your narcissistic way, not mine."

"Figured me out, have you, bloody well good, now I can finish what I started."

"You move one inch Charles and I'll blow your damned head off."

"Temper, temper, Callen, you used to be a steady and rock solid player."

"I still am," G said, inching toward Charles. "Turn around asshole."

"You expect me to allow you to arrest me?"

"No." G grabbed Charles's bloodied right hand and twisted it behind his back which caused the man to lose his balance and turn facing the door.

"Bastard!" He winced from the pain in his shoulder and hand.

"You love that word, but it suits you better." He removed a zip tie from his back pocket and placed it on Charles's wrists.

"How do you think you're getting out of here with me?"

"The same way I entered the laboratory." G dragged his former friend backward and hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder.

"My friend is just outside the door."

"Right," G said, "I heard him walk away the minute you stuck your head inside the doorway. Let's go asshole before I decide to take you down to one of your cells and torture you here." He pushed Charles through the open door. "Tell me if you're gonna need some duck tape on that mouth of yours." G shoved his prisoner out into the hallway and looped his arm into Charles's right arm and pulled him down the hallway with him.

He yelped and winced. "What do you plan on doing to me?"

"If I tell you, that would ruin all my fun." He grinned thinking about the torture session he had devised for his former friend, ex-partner, and torturer.


	12. Torturer

**WARNING: Darker fiction ahead. Please read with caution.**

**Torturer **

**Chapter 12**

G dragged Charles Waite into his Toluca Lake garage and tied him to a wooden chair with chains around his neck, arms, and ankles.

"You know this is illegal."

"Is it now?" His left upper lip turned upward. "I wouldn't know about that, but you certainly would considering what you've done to me."

"You haven't even read me my rights."

"As you like to say, I don't bloody care asshole."

"You sound—"

"Don't even start Charles or I'll start off raping you with a baton using battery acid for lube."

"What?" His jaw dropped.

"Yep, couldn't happen to a nicer ex-partner." G turned to a workbench within Charles's clear view to prepare the next part of his torture. "You know I heard that battery acid makes a great torture device."

"You wouldn't."

"And why not?" G asked. "You didn't give a shit about me when you tortured me with that wicked picana. Is it different now that you are the victim and I'm in the torturer's position? Can't handle being tortured Charles? But you can dish it out?" He grabbed a flat bottomed, glass bowl with a liquid in it and brought it over to his prisoner's side. "A little goes a long way or so I've heard."

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"Nothing you can give me, Charles, you lied to me about everything and you used your sick mind to torture me," G said. "It's my turn to torture you." He stirred the liquid with a laboratory glass stir rod. "My special brew which is designed to provide the ultimate torture. Let's start with your right shoulder where the muscles and bone were exposed by the bullet."

"What can I do to get you to—" Charles shrieked and squirmed in his seat when the liquid hit his right shoulder where the bullet had ripped the skin open. "Bastard!"

"Feel good?" G grinned watching his ex-partner suffer. "I hope you liked it because there's more where that came from but of a different type."

"What the hell?" He panted and flinched as the liquid seeped deeper into the bullet wound. "Damn it, what the hell is in that stuff?"

"Doesn't matter, you won't live long enough to know or understand its composition."

"You're a sick, sadistic bastard."

"Takes one to know one."

"What did you do all these years think of ways to torture me?"

"Nope, I didn't know what you did until about a week ago." G turned back to the workbench in his garage where he chose another type of liquid. "I've heard that hot wax is used for sexual excitation during BDSM. You're probably into that too? If not, you'll love this experiment anyhow. I need to seal off your bullet wound with the battery acid in it and I thought sealing wax would suffice for the job. Most likely you don't remember the ingredients in sealing wax so let me refresh your memory. Shellac and rosin with turpentine and pigment. I opted for zero pigment because I want to see inside your shoulder wound while the sealing wax is doing its job."

"You're a sick—"

"Spare me the commentary, Charles, and _enjoy_ your next torture." G returned to his ex-partner's right side, dipped the metal spoon into the hot sealing wax, and dribbled the wax on his former partner's shoulder. Charles screamed and writhed. "Oh yes, does it hurt? Are you really hurting this time or is it fake? Yeah, I know about you faking it while they supposedly tortured you. It was all a lie. Those hallucinogens played tricks with my mind and I believed you were in horrible pain."

"Stop this, man, you're crazy, you've bloody lost your mind, man, what can I do to stop you from hurting me further?"

"Nothing." G dribbled more on Charles's bloodied hand where it lay on the arm rest of the chair.

"Fuck you!" He shrieked when the hot wax hit the raw flesh surrounding the bullet. "You know your neighbors might hear me." He panted and shuddered as the wax seeped deeper into the wound.

"It's a soundproofed garage," G said, "the former owners used to play music in here and no neighbors could hear them." He grinned. "You know there's one place this might feel good and excite you."

"You've got to be kidding… you're not going to do that to me… Callen, no, please, bloody stop this ludicrous shit."

"No?" G set the wax on the floor at his feet and unbuckled Charles's pants.

"I'll kill you." He gritted his teeth.

"Go ahead and tell me how much you want me to rape you, because that is coming after I torture your body." G pulled down his ex-partner's pants until his groin was exposed. "Time for a painting lesson, Charles." He picked up the wax, stirred it, and scooped a large amount onto the spoon. G drizzled it over the man's groin and watched his reaction. "Yeah, you like sexual torture, thought so because when you raped me you grinned the whole time. I remembered that Cheshire Cat grin plastered on your face while you raped me and refused to stop even though I begged you again and again. You didn't give a crap."

"I had my orders."

"Orders, from whom?"

"Our captors."

"Right, you planned the whole thing."

"You figured this out."

"Yep, and I'm not taking bull shit off you any more, Charles," G said. "I was your guinea pig, your experiment, and now you are mine." He placed the sealing wax back on the bunsen burner and turned back to his prisoner. "Now for something special. I wouldn't want to put my cock in you, that's too disgusting for me. However, I found something which will work just fine." G raised the police truncheon by his side into the air and twirled it. "You didn't care if you hurt me. You didn't care one iota about how it felt to me. Did you? No! You know if I was really mean and cruel like you, I'd dip this in the battery acid and run it through you." He set the truncheon on the floor next to Charles's chair and tipped the chair on its side. "I prepared this chair for your utmost pleasure Charles, but not really, more like my sadistic pleasure watching you squirm on this truncheon as it goes up your rear without any lube. I hope it reminds you of how you raped me the first time in my office." He affixed the truncheon to a lift device in the floor. "Let's make sure you have optimal exposure." After grabbing a hunting knife off the workbench, he cut a hole in the seat of Charles's pants. G pushed the chair back into position.

"I'll kill you, man."

"How?"

"Damn it, you can't be serious, I mean…"

"You mean, I shouldn't do this because I'm a federal agent?"

"Yes, it's against the law."

"And what you did?"

"I suppose it's illegal."

"You suppose?" G sighed. "How come anything you've done you justify? It was always that way between us Charles and I'm sick and tired of it. Are you ready to be raped into submission?"

"Then what will you do to me?"

"Basically, whatever I wish because you'll be mine just as you did to me years ago in my office." G grabbed a remote control off the workbench and pressed the up button, holding it in place. "Here it comes closer to your ass and closer to the ultimate in submission."

The side garage door burst open. G tossed the remote control on the workbench and grabbed his S & W 500, and aimed it at the intruder. "You almost got yourself shot, Sam."

"What the hell are you doing, man?"

"Taking care of business." He set the gun on the workbench, picked up the remote control and stared at it.

Sam crossed the garage and stepped up to his partner's side. "I know you're pissed, but you need to stop." He kept his voice low and soft.

"I can't because I need to punish him for what he did to me." G's hands trembled.

"That's not up to you, G, come on man."

"No, I need to do this, please don't stop me."

"Give me the remote control." Sam covered the device with his hands and gently pried it loose from G's hands.

"Please, Sam, I need to finish his punishment."

"I think he got your point." He eyed Charles's countenance: the man was beaten physically and emotionally and psychologically.

"I want to make sure he knows I mean business and that I hate him and that I—"

"Not necessary, G." Sam eyed Deeks and Kensi. "Our team will take care of this from here." After Charles was taken from the garage, Sam drew G into his arms and held him. "Let it go, man, let it go." He finally heard his partner sobbing. "That's it, man, it is over. It's finished."


	13. Vindicated

**Vindicated**

**Chapter 13**

G paced the hallway outside Nate's office. It wasn't like him to pace, but lately he'd been more nervous than usual following his trip to the dark side of his mind. At first, he couldn't believe it happened and he denied it right to Hetty's face, but she had the evidence which pointed to it. Traffic and video cams all over Toluca Lake and Studio City showed G's frantic shopping spree as he gathered the necessary items to torture his ex-partner from the CIA. Hetty made him sit in the OPS Center by himself and watch those cams and then he was told to meet her down at Nate's office. Damn. What would Nate and Hetty do to him? And did Vance know about this peregrination into the deep recesses of his memory tortured mind?

Hetty opened the door to Nate's office and stood by it. "Mr. Callen, please come in and sit any where you like," she said.

He swallowed hard and entered Nate's office finding a seat as far from the psychologist's desk as possible. A few minutes later, Sam entered the room and sat next to his partner on the sofa. Hetty took a seat in a chair next to the sofa.

Nate sat across from all of them. "Callen, how are you feeling these days?"

"I'm good."

"Nightmares, trouble sleeping, you know the usual?"

"Yeah, as usual."

"About?"

"Bolivia and Charles."

"And the incident in your garage?"

"Incident?"

"At this point, Callen, no one is pressing charges, and Charles denies anything ever happened."

"In exchange for a reduced sentence?" G asked thinking the powers that be might let this man go without being punished.

"Mr. Callen, there's no exchange for a lesser sentence," she said. "He's being charged for everything he did to you in Bolivia, at the CIA, and in Los Angeles."

"He's not remorseful and never will be." He silently berated himself for getting agitated over anything to do with Charles Waite.

"And no one is pressing charges over the incident, Mr. Callen."

"No one? Not Vance?"

"Your orders were to eliminate Pure, therefore no charges will be leveled for the incident."

G leaped to his feet and dashed out of the room. _Damn it. This was no incident. I tortured Charles Waite. _He headed for the men's room and locked himself into a stall. _I became the torturer._ The whole situation felt as if he were Dexter perpetrating the crimes he did to rid the world of despicable killers. He shuddered and cringed.

Sam entered the men's room. "G, come on, man, let's go talk somewhere else." He sighed. "I know you're in here."

He unlocked the bathroom stall door and faced his partner. "I'm as evil and despicable as him." G glanced at the light blue colored tile at his feet.

"You did what was necessary to—"

"No! Damn it." G stammered and shuddered. "I took it beyond what was necessary to take down Charles."

"You were pissed at him."

"You're damned right I was and still am."

"I would be too if the same thing happened to me."

"Would you Sam?"

Sam pulled G into a hug. "That bastard put you through hell." He patted his partner on the back. "Hetty and Nate and Vance didn't side with anyone but you. Understand? This was a meeting to place you back on active status."

"It was?" G stepped backward.

"All wrong doing is cleared."

"But I became the torturer."

"You are vindicated."

"And what do you think of what I did?"

"I agree with everything, but the rape," Sam said. "That's why I stopped you, man."

G sighed. "I wanted to finish everything I planned to do to that man, but… I'm glad you stopped me," he said. "I know I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I had raped him even with that truncheon."

"I know, man, shall we?" Sam opened the bathroom door and motioned with his hand. "Only one thing I would've done different, physically beat up that guy until he was puking his guts out all over himself."

"And I thought I was brutal." The corners of G's mouth turned upward.

"You were and Charles deserved everything you gave him and then some," he said. "Hetty says we need to check into our old headquarters to receive the updates for our new ops."

"What are they doing with this building?" G asked and strode through the doorway into the hallway.

"Stripping down all the hardware and equipment and turning it into a training gym for NCIS."

"I love that idea because it's something positive from something negative," he said. "Got time to stop for some donuts?"

Sam grinned wide when he heard his partner ask about stopping for donuts. "You bet, G." He surrounded his partner's shoulders with his right arm and they strode toward The Barn's exit.

* * *

><p>The End<p>

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading and for the reviews.<p> 


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